Demons
by JustCatchMe24
Summary: Merlin & Freya escape Camelot. Merlin/Freya, hints of Merlin/Arthur.


**A/N: AUish for 2.9.** Recommend listening to _Demons _by Imagine Dragons while reading. It's perfect for Merlin and Freya.

* * *

**The Camelot Chronicles **

Part I: _Demons _or If Freya and Merlin had escaped

* * *

They've been riding for what feels like forever. Freya is almost unconscious in his arms as Merlin urges his horse on, feeling like a criminal though he has done no wrong. He'd actually saved Arthur – again – if you thought about it. If Merlin hadn't arrived on the scene when he did, who knows what a cornered Bastet-girl could have done to him?

Merlin sort of hates himself for not being quick enough to stop Arthur from striking Freya. Her blood is all over the dress he's shakily pulled around her, and his own clothes. He's done a little healing magic, but he doesn't know enough to be able to save her completely, so instead he stole his usual horse, grabbed a pack of supplies, and rode out into the night, precious dying Freya in his arms.

He hasn't stopped for the night. He hasn't stopped to eat, or sleep, or even feed the horse. Merlin knows none of them can keep this up, but he can't banish the image of the angry knights of Camelot, hunting him down – though logically, he knows a simple horse thief wouldn't likely be pursued beyond the city walls. But he can't stop. Freya's life bleeds out slowly with every step they take, but Merlin can't help but try to outrun the death that is coming swiftly for her.

When his horse finally stumbles over a root in the dark (has it been a whole day then, since they left?) he finally lets up. Merlin glances around at the dense trees around them, and deciding it will have to do for cover, dismounts with Freya cradled in his arms. He lowers her to the ground, then briefly unsaddles his horse, settles him to graze for food.

When he returns to Freya's side, she's stirring. His heart leaps as she opens her eyes and tries to smile at him. It comes out as more of a painful grimace, and his hands, no longer unsure of their welcome, go to her wound. It's bleeding out of the simple bandage Merlin has bound it with, and with his eyes on Freya's face, he slowly moves her dress out of the way.

If Freya is embarrassed or shy, she doesn't say it. Her breath is labored, and her eyes close again as Merlin removes the blood-soaked bandage, presses his hand against her hot skin, breathes out words of magic and desperation. The bleeding slows to a trickle – for a moment – then the wound breaks free of the confines of his magic – and the red rush stains his fingers.

Merlin wraps his arms around Freya's shoulders and sobs, half-frantic with fear and grief. Freya has wound her way into his soul, and he has abandoned his very destiny to be with her. He cannot bear the thought of her death, but for once, his magic is powerless to save her.

"Merlin…" Freya's voice is weak, and he hurriedly wipes his eyes with bloody hands. God, he is such a mess. He looks into her eyes again, and his tears fall down his face and onto hers.

"I'm sorry, I just-" Merlin takes a few gulps of air, tries to compose himself. He knows Freya knows she's dying, and she seems a lot calmer with the whole idea. That could also be the blood loss talking – but then isn't it always easier to die, than be left behind? He suddenly wonders if Arthur's noticed his absence, if he's kicked his way into Merlin's room as he's done so many times Merlin's been late. He wonders if he's missed at all.

"I can't save you," he admits. "My magic…"

Freya smiles shakily, reaches out a soft hand to touch his face. "You already have saved me, Merlin... If it weren't for you, I'd have ended up in that cage again…"

"But… you won't-…" he wipes his eyes angrily. "I won't let you die, Freya! I'm the most powerful warlock to ever walk the earth, I have to be able to save you!" He holds his conviction for a moment, then his lips start to tremble and he collapses around Freya, his sobs shaking them both. He's never felt so useless in his life.

"Merlin... Merlin… Merlin, please… please, don't…"

He feels her shaky hands caressing his hair, feels her gasp with pain as she twists in his arms to try to wrap him in her arms. She softly kisses his cheek, wiping his tears away as they fall. He leans his forehead against hers and looks into her soft brown eyes. There's no fear there, just peace, and acceptance.

"Listen to me, Merlin. You know the life I have… I'm always running from my demons, but I can never outrun the one inside me. Even tonight… I may hurt you. I couldn't live with myself, if anything happened to you-"

"Don't talk like that. You couldn't hurt me. You wouldn't."

Freya closes her eyes wearily. She opens them and looks up at the sky visible above through the leaves. She shivers and presses herself harder against Merlin's chest.

"It won't matter that I'm dying. It won't matter I love you. I won't be able to help it, and I will kill you," she whispers. Her body starts to shake in his arms, and he instinctively flinches, but she's only crying.

"I should get a fire started," Merlin says resolutely, wiping his face. He ignores Freya's protests and untangles himself from her, settling her gently against a tree. It's a relief to use his magic to do the usual chores, but it seems a mockery somehow of his magic. He would gladly do all these tasks by hand if only he was powerful enough to save Freya.

* * *

Freya has fallen into a fitful sleep in the middle of their awkward conversation. Merlin thinks of his and Arthur's easy companionship, and wonders how he can love someone he barely knows. He doesn't know how she's managed to survive this long, with all the blood she's lost. Perhaps the curse strengthens her, prolongs her pain.

Still, when Merlin hears a rustle in the dark, he jolts out his uneasy sleep and peers around wildly. It's either a bandit, or maybe Cenred's men, or a knight of Camelot, or Freya herself. Either way, his heart pounds, and he wonders how he can spend his life with someone if he fears her every night.

It's only Freya. The night is dark, but in the sparse light, he can make out her twitches and shudders. As he watches in horror and sadness, she starts to sob, her broken body trying to fight but eventually giving in to the beast. Pitiful cries of pain turn into snarls of rage, a soft and loving body into harsh angles and cruel claws. Merlin stays still for a moment, watching her with a reluctant fascination.

As the beast, Freya is stronger. He watches as the creature licks its wound, and seems to shake off the weakness of its human counterpart. So much for hoping Arthur's attack would have helped weaken the curse then.

The beast uncurls its wings, and with a few ungainly hops, takes to the skies. Merlin watches it go – knowing he shouldn't let her leave, shouldn't let other innocent people die. But he doesn't know how to stop her without turning her murderous rage on himself.

* * *

Merlin stays awake for more than an hour, sitting still, using magic to keep an eye on his surroundings. He doesn't know if he's relieved or worried that Freya still hasn't returned. Does that mean she's found someone to kill? Has the wound overwhelmed the beast too, has she died somewhere far from him?

That thought jolts him out of his stupor, and he gets to his feet. Whatever she is, he can't let Freya die alone. He relights the fire, then steps out into the dark, calling for Freya.

He knows the moment he isn't alone. The sound of breathing from behind him, low and menacing, make him turn around, hand already outstretched. He hates the idea of hurting Freya to protect himself, and he knows he will not be able to. Still, as the beast's eyes narrow at him, perhaps recognizing, perhaps not, he whispers out a spell to try to make it sleep.

It doesn't work. Nor does a spell to knock it to its feet. Nor a spell to soothe it, to transform it, to tie it. After that last spell, the beast, which seems to have retained some of Freya in it – at least, it gave him that much time as it stared at him in something like recognition – seems to have decided it's had enough of this man practicing magic on it.

Merlin drops his hand and the beast lunges for him. He closes his eyes as he feels the heavy paws push him to the ground. His head crashes against a tree root, and he passes out.

* * *

When Merlin comes to, he feels very, very sore. It's daylight, and he hears birds chirping. He's pleasantly warmed by weight on him, and he opens his eyes to find Freya curled into him, fingers clutching his jacket. She's completely naked again, and he quickly closes his eyes. Merlin reaches to pull his jacket off, then stops with a wince. He feels like he was beaten black and blue.

Memories rush back to him, and his eyes snap open again. This time they scan his own body, which seems in one piece, though any movement makes him wince. Still, he's not bleeding, or scratched, or bitten, as far as he can see. What did the beast do, use him as a pillow?

He tries again to remove his jacket, and this time succeeds. He carefully covers Freya, then stumbles to his feet, trying to find his way back to their camp. He reaches it, and quickly gathering together their few things, makes his way back to where Freya is slowly stirring.

She does not smile when she sees him. She's wearing his jacket, and it covers her, but she still seems painfully embarrassed. Merlin kneels next to her and offers her the dress she's been wearing. She takes it with a shaky hand, and nods her thanks. Merlin leaves her to refill their water bags, and find some food.

When he returns with a few berries, he finds Freya sitting morosely, her clothes back on. She looks healthier, as messed up as that is, as though the curse is saving Freya's life.

"Morning," he says as cheerfully as he can. He suddenly wonders how George is faring, waking up Arthur.

Freya nods at him, but refuses the food. Merlin searches their pack for the bread, and offers her that instead. After a few bites, she packs away the rest, and slowly gets to her feet, her hand on her wound.

"How are you feeling? You look better."

She doesn't answer.

"Can I check your wound? I could change the bandage."

"Freya?"

Merlin stands and steps into her. Her eyes are dull and ashamed, and she avoids his gaze. Merlin gently takes her face in his hands, presses a kiss against her lips. It seems to break the silence, because she's suddenly crying into his shirt.

* * *

They're riding again, though this time Freya leans into him, and his heart races as fast as the horse. They haven't spoken of what happened last night, though Freya's eyes are unbearably sad as she watches Merlin awkwardly mount the horse behind her. He doesn't let her see his pain, after all, he's suffered much worse, but he has a feeling she knows it anyway.

They make plans to find the Isle of the Blessed. It's their best hope – at both healing Freya, and freeing her from the curse. Merlin remembers the way, and they travel mostly in silence, but sometimes he asks her about her childhood, or she asks about Ealdor. Once she asks about Arthur, but maybe she can feel him go still behind her, or maybe she realizes she's crossed a line, and she never does again.

* * *

They have to stop again for the night, and this time Freya is alert as she watches Merlin make a fire, and set a soup to simmer. Her wound has nearly stopped bleeding, and though she's still weak from the loss of blood, Merlin has no doubt she'll survive. He doesn't understand why that doesn't make him happier.

They eat, and then Merlin smiles at Freya and she timidly approaches him. He settles her into his arms, pressing kisses down the side of her face. She's covered in dirt, and leaves are tangled in her hair, but she's still so beautiful to him. He glances up at the sky, and desperately wishes they could just have a night together, as Merlin and Freya.

Freya must sense his wishes, because she reaches up to kiss him. Merlin sighs against her mouth, and pulls away after a minute.

"Merlin…" Freya whispers. She puts her hand on her shoulder, and pushes the dress away, exposing a little skin. He looks at her collarbone rather unhappily. "We still have a little time…"

Merlin leans forward to press a kiss against her collarbone, then pulls himself away entirely. "No, we shouldn't."

"Are you… afraid of me?"

"No, don't say that."

"Do you not want to?"

"Of course I do…"

Freya reaches to undo her dress, and Merlin watches as she slowly reveals the body he's already seen so many times. He remembers the reason why he's seen her so vulnerable, and he closes his eyes in grief.

"Merlin… look at me. Please."

He slowly opens his eyes, and at Freya's smile, lets his gaze wander a little. He has never been with a woman before, but he thinks he's justified in thinking she's the most beautiful woman in the entire kingdom. The only person he knows more beautiful is Arthur.

At that thought, his defenses slam back in place, and he removes the hands that have slowly started to caress her skin. He has felt endlessly guilty for leaving Arthur, for abandoning his destiny, but this is a different kind of guilt altogether.

"Merlin, what is it?"

"Maybe we shouldn't," he says hurriedly. "I want it to be special, yeah? We'll have a house someday, where we can lie on a proper bed, all day long since we couldn't… at night. I just want to make it special for you."

He hopes his rambling has satisfied her, and if the tears slowly welling in Freya's eyes are any indication, he's done the right thing. He watches as she pulls her dress back on, feeling strangely cold.

They settle into the bed roll, Merlin shifting to find a comfortable position. He knows he won't be sleeping much, and he feels his eyes burn with the need to close, but he can't afford to let down his guard. Freya settles her head against his chest, and seems to have no trouble drifting off. Perhaps she's learned to catch sleep wherever she can.

He's just turning around to wrap his lanky frame around Freya when she starts to shudder. He sighs, and backs away.

This time, when the transformation is complete, and the beast has finished licking itself clean, Merlin cautiously calls, "Freya?"

The Bastet whips its head around, snarling. Its intelligent eyes hone in on him, and he wonders how stupid Gaius would think he's being right now. Probably not the smartest thing he's done, but he slowly reaches out a hand to the beast. He feels it shift uncomfortably, probably fearing he's going to hurt him, but he just puts his hands out nonthreateningly, and tries to come closer.

It sits completely still as Merlin comes forward and slowly caresses its head. Then it lunges for him, paws knocking him backward. This time there's no fortuitously placed trees, and he stays conscious as he feels its breath, sees its razor sharp teeth come with ferocious speed at his neck. He twists and curls into a ball, trying to protect himself, and he feels heavy paws batting at his back hard enough to leave bruises. Merlin whimpers as he feels it settle its body on him, his ankle creaking ominously with the pressure of its wings. He's so small compared to it, and he can barely breathe, the way it's wrapped around him so thoroughly. He gasps and tries to roll away, but doesn't get far before he's pounced on again.

Merlin thinks this must be some sort of game the beast is playing with him. It isn't biting him, it isn't trying to kill him. He feels like he's slowly suffocating to death, but it isn't actually attacking him. If he tries to move away, he's quickly captured with painful force, so he stops trying to move. But he can't get comfortable knowing he's trapped under a bloodthirsty beast's paws. He doesn't sleep the entire night, and neither does the beast, both trapped in an uncomfortable stalemate as Merlin's heart pounds in fear.

* * *

He doesn't know when he fell asleep. Maybe after Freya returned, and the weight on him settled into a far more warm and comfortable one. Maybe after it was daylight. Either way, he's exhausted, and sore, and when he opens his eyes and catches sight of Freya curling against him, naked again, he sighs in frustration, and tries to go back to sleep. He can't seem to wake from this nightmare.

They make it farther to the Isle that day. Soon after dinner, Merlin turns to Freya and kisses her, his hands sliding over her body awkwardly. Freya looks at him in surprise, but doesn't say anything.

"Freya, do you remember anything… from the night?" he questions her breathlessly after they've kissed for a few minutes. Freya stiffens, as she does any time he acknowledges the beast is really still her.

"No… why, have I done something horrible? I thought you're alive so I must have stayed away from you."

"Yeah… you have," he smiles quickly, and resumes kissing her to avoid further conversation.

Merlin wonders if he's justified in taking comfort in Freya's body. Clearly at night, the beast is taking ownership of his. And Arthur has definitely allowed himself the pleasure of a maid's body a couple times. He makes up his mind, and when he tries to remove Freya's dress, she smiles and lets him.

* * *

They fall asleep tangled up in each others' arms. Merlin feels like he's barely rested when he again feels the familiar weight of the beast curling around his naked body. It feels, oh god, it's scary and painful, and strangely arousing. He feels the adrenaline pulsing through his veins as a rough tongue scrapes his leg.

"Freya?"

There is no answer except a low whine that might be recognition. He shudders and it feels like there is warm black fur everywhere, like he's covered in it and he doesn't have a body of his own anymore. How's he going to survive without sleep? Why can't it be Freya's lovely body wrapping around his right now? Is this her way of trying to do just that?

His breath quickens as he feels a growling sound from the beast resting on him. He doesn't dare turn, knowing he'll find its face way too close for comfort. He feels it moving restlessly, then its teeth drag down his leg. He gasps, but it hasn't punctured the skin, just set his nerves afire. There is a hot breath on his left ankle for a moment, then he feels a sharp stabbing pain, and he knows he's bleeding.

The beast settles against him, rough tongue lazily licking at the blood from his foot. He trembles all over, and wishes he weren't quite as naked. He thinks about using magic, but the pain has already faded, and he can't.

* * *

Merlin wakes up to find Freya caressing his body. He smiles at her and in spite of his tiredness, rolls around to wrap her in his arms. He's just leaning in to kiss her when his ankle drags along the ground, and he freezes. He looks down at it, and sees a bloody mess. He cries out and lets go of Freya instantly.

"Merlin? What's wrong?" She sits up and reaches for him, but he shakes his head a bit, and just tries to smile as he gestures to his ankle.

"Uh… I guess I scraped it in the night? I'll just go wash it off, it'll be fine-" he hobbles to his feet, grabbing his clothes, and walks away as fast as he can manage.

It's nothing that a bit of water and magic can't fix, and by the time he's dressed and has found food, he's calmed down. What really happened anyway? A bloodthirsty beast that has given up killing? It has to be Freya overcoming the beast, for his sake. How can he begrudge her a silly injury that doesn't take him even a second to heal anyway?

* * *

They reach the Isle of the Blessed, but the boat won't even come. Merlin curses, calls it in every tongue he knows. But inside he knows it is because evil is not permitted there. Freya cries, and he asks her to sit and rest while he searches for food.

He sneaks back to the water's edge, desperate, and nearly cries with relief when the boat appears readily. He calls out for Freya, and after a few moments, she joins him. They clasp hands and Merlin holds onto the boat, but the moment Freya's foot touches the old wood, it disappears. She falls awkwardly into the water, and he quickly rushes in to help her out.

They sit by a fire, neither speaking. Freya is wrapped in Merlin's jacket, and still shivers though he's dried her with magic. They haven't discussed why the Isle has rejected Freya, but he's pretty sure she knows exactly why.

They don't hold each other as they try to fall asleep. He lays down, expecting Freya to cuddle into his arms as usual. She chooses a spot a little farther away, and huddles with Merlin's jacket around her. He stares at her in dismay and relief.

"Do you want the blanket? You must be cold."

"Thanks, Merlin, I'll be alright. Good night."

"Good night. I love you?" He sounds so uncertain, so hesitant. She doesn't respond.

* * *

When Merlin awakes to find the beast once more curled on top of him, he groans in frustration. He's happy it's not killing innocent people, of course, but this is hardly the most conducive to his sleep habits. He settles unhappily into his roll, trying to block out the sight of the black fur by closing his eyes. He pretends it's Freya, warm and comforting, pressed against his back. The weight is too much, though, for it to be a satisfactory dream, so he imagines it's Arthur, breathing steadily against his neck.

Sometimes when they'd go on solo missions, they'd huddle together at night for warmth. They'd always start farther away from one another, but sometime in the night, Arthur would always come nearer, seeking Merlin's warmth. He had no way of knowing that Merlin was using magic to stay warm, of course, and he would always blame Merlin when they awoke far closer than either was comfortable with. But it still always made Merlin smile, to wake up in the middle of the night to find Arthur pressing his face into his back, his hands snaking around Merlin's waist to find his fingers.

Perhaps the beast senses Merlin's happiness, or perhaps it's just restless. He feels it shift, followed by a sharp pain as it rakes its claws straight down his back, tearing his shirt and creating half a dozen deep gouges in his back. He cries out, and tries to escape its hold, hot tears coursing down his face as he pushes futilely at its heavy paws. It pushes him onto his injured back and as he yells in pain, sinks its teeth into his chest. Merlin blacks out.

* * *

When he wakes up, his shirt is missing, and he feels cool bandages on his chest and back. He smells something good cooking, and the fire is built high. He's wrapped in both blankets, but he still feels cold. He opens his eyes and coughs, and Freya appears to tilt a water bag over his lips.

"Thanks."

"How are you feeling?"

"Uhh… like I was-" he breaks off quickly. Freya sniffles, and he shoots an alarmed glance at her.

"I guess I tripped and fell?" he suggests cautiously. Freya smiles and shakes her head.

"We both know it was me, Merlin. And your ankle the day before. And the bruises the day before."

"No, Freya-"

"I'm just surprised I haven't killed you yet. I don't remember any of it, of course, but Merlin-" she dissolves in tears that he sees she's just barely been holding back. "I'm so sorry…"

"No, come on, Freya, it's not like that. Don't apologize-"

"You would be happy and healthy, if it weren't for me. You'd be sleeping in your own bed, serving your prince, fulfilling your destiny-"

"I don't want any of those things, Freya! I want you. I want the life we're going to make together. Just be patient, I promise we'll figure a way out."

"But Merlin, you're hurt!"

"Eh, nothing I can't handle," he grins at her. "Trust me, training with Arthur and his knights regularly results in this."

"You have a fever."

"Ask Gaius, he's dosed me loads of times. I'm always getting into scrapes."

"You need to go back to Camelot. Leave me here."

"No. I won't go."

"Please, Merlin. I can't bear the thought of hurting you. Why don't you use your magic to protect yourself?"

"I wouldn't hurt you, Freya. No matter what. Now come on, let's not speak of this. I think we should spend the day resting here. Tomorrow we can figure out which way we want to head. Now, how about a bit of that soup? It smells lovely."

* * *

In spite of his brave words, Merlin sleeps fitfully through most of the day. Freya watches over him sadly. When evening falls, she covers him carefully, and disappears. He calls out to her but he is too weak to follow her.

Freya's attempts to avoid him before she transforms don't seem to help since he is jolted out of a sleep by the familiar weight of the beast on his neck. He groans and gasps for air, and feels it lick at the bandaged wound on his chest. He tries to push it away but it knocks his hands out of the way and easily tears the bandage off. He hisses with pain as it settles down to lick the fresh blood seeping out.

"Freya… please…." It licks until it feels like he has no more blood in his body.

"Don't, Freya…" He groans as it settles around his leg, then proceeds to bite his thigh, tearing through his trousers. He winces and grits his teeth against the pain, determined to not pass out. It seems to calm the beast, when he's quiet, but he can't let this go on. He needs to get through to her.

"Freya, please…. It's Merlin… Don't do this."

The beast raises its head, jaws glistening red with his blood. He turns his head, stomach turning at the sight. He's become its prey, and there isn't any way to change that. Reluctantly, he stretches out a hand, and whispers a few words. The beast shudders and sways on its paws. He holds his breath, hoping it will fall asleep. He put a lot of magic into it, but he's not sure it's enough for a beast of this size.

The beast crashes to the ground, then shakes the spell off itself. Snarling in anger, it claws angrily at him, then bites him hard in the stomach. Merlin screams, and passes out.

* * *

Merlin awakes feeling terrible. He's once more cleaned up and bandaged, and there is a soup bubbling over the fire, but there is no sign of Freya. He tries to get up and winces, glancing at the various wounds on his bare body.

Merlin reaches a hand out to the still bleeding wound on his stomach. He's rubbish at healing magic, but he's going to have to do something here. He whispers a few words, his eyes flash, and he watches as the bleeding slows to a trickle. It will have to do until he finds Freya. He repeats the actions on his thigh and various scratches, then painfully pulls on his clothes.

Freya is nowhere to be found. They're still on the edge of the lake, and for a glorious moment, he thinks she's managed to call the boat, and reach the Isle. Then he catches sight of a dark dress on the banks, and he breaks into a panicked run.

Freya's dress is lying on the banks. It's ruined by now. He glances down at it, then his eyes fall to a pile of stones laid carefully next to it. He drops to his knees with a wince, and looks at the heart shape the rocks have been arranged in. Inside the heart is an F.

"Freya!" He yells. "FREYA!"

He spends forever searching, until he's forced to admit she's gone. He doesn't know if she's run away, or drowned herself. He won't ever know. For the first time in days, Merlin allows himself to sink to his knees, and cry.

* * *

There's nowhere to go but home. He spends a few hours on the shore, gathering strength, but he doesn't want to stay here any longer than he has to. He is still hurt, and sore, and his eyes are red and puffy from crying. As much as the beast's wounds hurt him, he'd still rather that pain than this one, any day.

It takes him six days to reach Camelot. He rides in a daze, stopping to eat and sleep without much awareness. Freya invades every memory, and he can't bear the pain.

He dismounts at the stables, ignoring the stable hands' stares, and enthusiastic questioning. He takes in enough to gather he was rather missed, all around. It doesn't seem to matter to Merlin.

He wearily makes his way to Gaius's chambers. The walk up the stairs seems longer and harder than it ever has. He opens the door, notes that it's rather lucky that both Gaius and Arthur are seated at the table. He's far too exhausted to notice the heavy looks on both their faces, as though they've been discussing a subject that pains them both.

"Hello," he says rather unnecessarily, then walks past them to stumble up the steps and through his door to crash on his bed. He groans as his half-healed wounds throb.

"Merlin! Where have you been?" Gaius demands, both he and Arthur jumping up to follow him. Arthur reaches him first and turns him over, his eyes widening at the blood soaking Merlin's shirt. He quickly pulls Merlin's shirt off, and his hands shakily touch the various bloody bandages.

"Is he going to be alright?" Arthur's voice is fainter than Merlin has ever heard it. If he was less numb, he'd probably accuse the prat of actually caring.

"Perhaps it would be best if I examined him first, sire. I will send you a report as soon as I've finished," Gaius suggests. Merlin thinks he's obviously waiting to speak freely.

Arthur glances at his prone manservant again. "What do you think happened to him?"

"I will do my best to find out, sire," Gaius says firmly. "Now, let me get to work."

Arthur reluctantly nods and leaves the room. Gaius sits on the edge of the bed, and wipes Merlin's face with a soft cloth.

"Oh, Merlin, what have you gotten yourself into?" he whispers.

* * *

Merlin has been back in Camelot for four days. Gaius has assured Arthur that he is healing perfectly well, but he will not disclose where Merlin has been. Perhaps Merlin hasn't told him. Arthur thinks the two of them share rather everything, and it's more likely Gaius is trying to protect Merlin.

Arthur is thinking of Merlin as he lies in bed waiting for George to come with breakfast. It's not as fun to wake up without Merlin's ridiculous attempts to cheerily rouse him, so he's taken to waking up on his own, and just waiting for George to bring him breakfast. When the door opens, and he sees Merlin step in, balancing his breakfast tray carefully, he sits up quickly.

"Merlin?"

"Oh. You're awake. Morning."

Arthur frowns at the banal greeting. "Are you alright? Should you be working?"

"I'm fine, Arthur." He puts the tray down on the table, and holds up his hands. "All better."

"Where the bloody hell did you go?" Arthur demands, coming up to the table to settle into his chair. Merlin doesn't answer, pours him water, and helps him with his napkin. Arthur swats his hands away good-naturedly, and Merlin's lips quirk upwards.

"Merlin, I asked you a question."

"I was away," Merlin explains most unhelpfully.

"I could tell. You obviously weren't here. I had to put up with _George_ for the past week. Do you have any idea how hard it was?"

Merlin is smiling wryly, almost, Arthur thinks, like _he_ had a harder week than even Arthur. What could he have possibly been up to?

"Did you run into bandits?"

"No."

"Cenred's men?"

"No."

"Wild animals?"

"What?"

"You were covered in bites and scratches, Merlin!"

"Oh… no… well, yes… I suppose it was wild animals. It doesn't matter anyway. I'm fine now."

Arthur reaches out a hand to catch the end of Merlin's tunic in his fingers, twists it up to glance at his stomach. The skin is white and pristine, without the faintest trace of a scar, and his eyes widen. Merlin jerks away from him and glares at him.

"What the hell?"

"Leave it, Arthur."

"Why is there no scar?!"

"Arthur…"

"Merlin. Tell me. Where were you for the past _week_, and where did you get those wounds, which apparently healed overnight?"

"Arthur."

"_Mer_lin. It wasn't a request." He glares at his errant manservant and Merlin sighs.

"Well… if you must know. The wounds were magical. It was a sorcerer, cast a spell to turn into an animal, and I guess I ran afoul of him, because he attacked me. I barely escaped. Yes, that's the truth."

"Why did they heal perfectly?"

"Well, they're magic wounds of course, Arthur," Merlin sighs impatiently. "When the magic goes away, so does the wound."

"What the-"

"Yes, well, I'm sure Gaius knows about it all much better than me. He was the one who found the plant that counteracted the curse, after all."

"_Curse_?"

"Uh, well, magic. Curse. You know. Whatever."

"Which was it, then?"

"Well… I'm not rightly sure I remember. It's all a bit vague. I'm sure I hit my head a bunch of times there. You know me. Clumsy."

Arthur grimaces and throws his hands into the air. He pushes out of his chair and advances on his servant, who's smiling rather foolishly.

"Merlin."

"Yes, sire."

"You're an idiot."

"Yes, sire."

"And you're hiding something."

"No, sire, I wouldn't."

"You're lying again. But I'll let it go this time. But in future, Merlin-"

"Yes, sire."

"You're not allowed to take off like that."

"Like… that?"

"In the middle of the night. With a few supplies and a horse. Like… you were running away." His voice has become quiet, and Merlin hears a note of loneliness in it.

"I won't run away again," Merlin promises.

"Good. See that you never do."

"Yes, Arthur."


End file.
